


you'll never get rid of me (oh i'm like a fucking disease)

by wheelsonthebus



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), please lord give us our own fandom tag tHIS ISNT RPF
Genre: "don't say that i'll cry", "we're like brothers", Abuse, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, DreamSMP - Freeform, Gen, Ghosts, Graphic Description, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Wilbur Soot, Reincarnation, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, listen this sounds really dark but, tommy dies crab rave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheelsonthebus/pseuds/wheelsonthebus
Summary: "You alright, Toms?" Wilbur asks, voice soft and warm like hot chocolate on a snowy winter's evening.Tommy hums a response, eyes half-lidded. He yawns and draws up his legs, curling up into Wilbur's side and mumbles, "I wanna sleep, big man.""Go on," Wilbur says and ruffles Tommy's hair. It's a soothing motion, "I'll be here for you when you wake up."When Tommy drifts off, he dreams of his past lives.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 216





	you'll never get rid of me (oh i'm like a fucking disease)

**Author's Note:**

> please read tags! 
> 
> title from It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! by wilbur soot, aka a whole ass underrated banger.

It's easier to reflect on what could've been up here.

Sitting amongst the clouds, he feels almost peaceful. It's the most freeing he's ever felt for a long time.

The arm around his shoulders pull him in tighter, and for a moment he feels as though the one holding him is in need of more comfort than he is. He leans into the touch and smiles at the curly hair on his face and the soft huffs of breath misting in the cool air.

He's missed this.

The last time he'd been held by Wilbur had been years ago.. . way back before Schlatt's era and Pogtopia, when L'Manberg was still fresh and new.

He misses this Wilbur, this clean, untouched Wilbur – the one who hadn't gone insane, the one who had been soft-spoken and just and fair, the one who had treated him like a little brother.

At least, that's always been Tommy's view. It's the only view he's ever really needed, anyway.

"You alright, Toms?" Wilbur asks, voice soft and warm like hot chocolate on a snowy winter's evening.

Tommy hums a response, eyes half-lidded. He yawns and draws up his legs, curling up into Wilbur's side and mumbles, "I wanna sleep, big man."

"Go on," Wilbur says and ruffles Tommy's hair. It's a soothing motion, "I'll be here for you when you wake up."

When Tommy drifts off, he dreams of his past lives.

He sees Eret's eyes, blinding white when they peer over their sunglasses. He sees the Final Control Room, sees the button, winces at his own stupidity as he reaches out and jabs at it himself.

He'd been blaming himself for it for so long, lashing out in anger at Eret to disguise his guilt.

It had never been Eret who pulled the trigger; they'd led the group to a death trap, but it had been Tommy who killed them all.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, and the dream moves on.

One, two. He's at the duel, spine stiff straight and fingers aching in the bitter cold. 

He grips the bow and arrow in his fist so tightly his knuckles whiten – three, four, five – so he digs his nails into his palms – six, seven – until they draw blood.

Eight, nine. The rising panic and fear in his chest heaves and heaves until – ten.

Freezing.

Pain blossoming outwards from his chest.

An arrow, glittering, gleaming, his blood staining the waters red.

His mouth moves wordlessly, bubbles floating to the surface, and his hands reach up, up, up.

The dream shifts.

He's in the Nether, peering below to the rivers of lava. Someone pushes him away.

The vision flickers, then dies. A new one rolls in.

For a moment, he doesn't recognise where he is. He's never died here, but it's apparently important enough to warrant interest. 

He's so high up his lungs struggle for oxygen, so high up he can feel the vapour of the clouds and see for miles in all directions. He looks down against his better judgement.

He can see the distant shape of Logstedshire. He can feel the bruises on his arms and the deep wound on his leg. He can feel the stinging cuts on his face and over his nose, and his lips are dry and cracked.

He steps forwards.

Falls, falls, falls.

The dream changes one last time.

Crying obsidian walls, purple weeping against unfeeling black jagged material. A masked man smiles at him.

Fists strike where ever they can reach. Uncut nails scratch angry red lines across his arms until they draw blood. He coughs and wheezes and struggles to defend himself.

Before he knows it, he's knocked to the floor, screaming and kicking as Dream's fingers force themselves into his eyes and push.

Blinding agony as his head slams against the floor over and over until he can't think.

Aching, hurting, desperate for death however much it scares him.

He awakens with a scream, scrambling away from the arms touching him – hurt, hurt hurt they're going to hurt him – tripping and falling in his escape, dry-heaving, lungs bursting.

Dimly, he hears Wilbur's voice, gentle but sharpened with panic and concern. He hears a distant voice, gruff, questioning, the clip-clop of hooves on marble floor.

He turns to face Wilbur, every inch of him trembling, when his heart jolts and he's gone.

Crying obsidian walls, purple weeping against unfeeling black jagged material.

A masked man smiles at him.

**Author's Note:**

> im back with violence and tommy suffering. howdy


End file.
